JJ LaRousse looks like a quarterback but acts like a queen. He’s trying to be proud of who he is—until a robbery at the famous Laguna Winter Fantasy brings JJ face-to-face with tough cop Ryan Star. JJ hears Ryan likes manly men, so he drops his voice an octave, colors his pink hair, and tries to pass as a football fan.

Ryan Star may be tough, but he keeps his sexuality to himself at work. He learned in New York that being a gay cop can be deadly. His attraction to JJ threatens his secret, but he’s finding it hard to back away from a guy who’s so totally his type. Then, during a ski trip and a confrontation with JJ’s biggest nemesis, all the façades come crashing down. In the aftermath, can Ryan love JJ for who he really is? More importantly, can JJ?

The cop beamed at him. “Good job, JJ. Now what else can you
remember?”

Oh my, how he loved pleasing the nice detective. “Santa was
wearing a phony beard, but he had black stubble on his cheek above it. He had
on sunglasses. Cheap ones. Prada knockoffs you might get on the street in Santa
Ana.” Okay, maybe too much information. “Uh, he was wearing some padding, but I
think he probably had some fat of his own. The elf was skinny. And”—he closed
his eyes and pulled up the picture again—“he had weird eyes.”

“How weird?”

“Kind of pale and a little scary-looking.”

“Could they have been contacts?”

“Doubt it.” He closed his eyes again. Oh, he loved that
scent. He opened them. “I couldn’t see the elf’s hair because he wore a full
wig, but I’ll bet it was red.”

Star frowned. “Why do you think that?”

“He had those freckles that some redheads have. Might be.”

“Is there anything else?”

JJ nodded. Could he think of twenty more things to keep the
good detective here? “The bigger man spoke to me, and he had an accent of some
kind.”

“What kind?”

JJ screwed up his nose. “Hmm. It was a little like Southern,
but… I know, I think it was like Boston or New England or something. Sort of
flat-sounding.”

“Was the voice deep?”

JJ breathed out slowly. “Not as deep as yours.”

Star’s blue eyes flashed up at him.

“Uh, I mean you have a low voice. The Santa’s voice was
higher and nasally.”

“Do you think you would recognize it again?”

“Possibly.”

Star asked him a few more questions about what the robbers
had said and where they seemed to be going. He flipped the notebook closed.
“You’ve been extremely helpful. Thank you for your time.”

JJ tried to keep his voice low. “Anytime.”

Star looked back at him for a moment. “I may have a few more
questions. Is there somewhere I can reach you?”

Oh, be still my heart. JJ recited his cell number, and Star
wrote it in his notebook—on a separate page. Oh my.

“So, you a Trojan?”

“What?” JJ swallowed.

Star pointed at his head. “USC.”

“Oh, uh, no. Just a, uh, fan.”

That blazing smile again. “You like football.” It wasn’t a
question, thank God.

“I’ve been known to watch a game.” JJ held his breath.

The appraising blue eyes stared into his. “Thanks again for
your great help.”

“My pleasure.” Or at least his cock’s pleasure.

Detective Ryan Star walked away toward a group of uniformed
officers gathered at the booth across from JJ’s. The cop’s jeans clung to lean,
muscled thighs, and the tweed sports jacket had an obligatory feel, like maybe
it wasn’t something he wore in his free time. It wasn’t something he should
wear at all. That man needed a dresser. JJ sighed. Fat effing chance it would
be him.

JJ went back to the display, trying hard to look manly while
positioning dolls on a snow scene. He glanced up and caught his breath. Star
was staring at him. JJ wanted to fan himself so bad. Man up.

He stared down at the doll in his hands. Why the hell was he
trying to impress this guy? The detective was scary and his job was violent,
two things JJ hated. But there was that second while he was questioning JJ when
Star had looked embarrassed that he’d forgotten to show his credentials. Was
that a hint of the vulnerable man underneath? Naw, he probably just felt
uncomfortable around a creampuff like JJ.

What had he been thinking?

He’d been known to watch a football game? Not in this life.

The announcer’s voice sounded, and they both faced front.
The teams were going to come in now, JJ was pretty sure.

The guys in blue-and-white started to run onto the field. Oh
my, the way those narrow butts looked in the tight pants was positively
appetizing.

Ryan leaned over. “Who do you like? Any favorites?”

Okay, JJ was prepared. He took a deep breath. “Rivers, of
course. He’s a great leader. Bound to make it to 5000 yards this year.” Oh
sweet god of boys who like to sew, what did any of that mean?

Ryan nodded. “Amen. What about Gates?”

JJ sipped his beer to sort through his memory banks. “Best
tight end to ever play the game.” He held his breath.

“You said it.”

Whew. JJ stared at the field. “Of course,
quite a few of those guys look like tight ends.”

Ryan looked at him with his mouth open and then started to
laugh. “Yeah. You got that right.”

The coin toss. The kickoff. Wow. That ball went all the way to the end, and a guy caught it. Cool. They all went farther down the
field. Yep, just like Jerry had said. The guy in the center—the quarterback,
probably—threw the ball. It soared through the air and some lean player caught
it and started running like a son of a bitch. Holy shit. Two guys slammed him to the ground. That looked painful.
JJ resisted the urge to close his eyes. He’d seen football on TV, of course.
His dad had loved it. But JJ’d never paid much attention. In these good seats,
the game was in his face.

Somebody came out and measured the field. A lot of people,
including Ryan, moaned. He leaned over to JJ. “That was close.”

“Yeah.” Close to getting killed?

The players got back into lines. JJ could hear the cute one,
the quarterback, calling out numbers. Some big guy in the front line moved. A yellow
cloth flew through the air.

JJ whispered, “Offside.”

Ryan glanced over at him and smiled.

The announcer’s voice rang out, “Flag on the play. Offside.”

Holy shit. He’d gotten it right. Thank God for
Jerry.

The whole crew of men moved and then got back in their line.
A bunch of stuff happened at once, and JJ couldn’t follow it until everyone on
their side leaped up so he did too. The announcer called “first down,” but it
sure looked like about a hundred guys went down getting there.

Ryan leaned over. “I didn’t think they could make that one,
after the foul.”

“Me too.” What?
Good Lord, pretending was hard.

The whole line reassembled. The cutie stepped back and threw
the ball a long way. The lean, fast guy ran out and caught the thing, which was
clearly a miracle. He headed down the field like a jackrabbit with a pack of
bulldogs on his heels. Shit, one bulldog came out of nowhere and tackled the
rabbit, and then five other guys piled on. Whistles and yells sounded from
their side and cheers from the other.

Then a groan and the crowd got quieter as the bulldogs
pulled off and left the rabbit lying there in a heap. He didn’t get up. Oh no. JJ grabbed Ryan’s arm. “He’s
hurt.”

“Yeah. Looks like it. Shame. He’s a great wide receiver.”

Receiver, hell. He was a gorgeous, fast-as-lightning black
kid who had just got beaten to a pulp in a stupid game. JJ wanted to jump up
and scream.

A stretcher was carried onto the field. Some guy put a
collar around the player’s neck, and then they picked him up and put him on the
stretcher. Hell, they didn’t look nearly careful enough. The crowd murmured and
shifted. JJ looked around. They were uncomfortable with his being hurt, but it
didn’t seem like they felt sorry for the player, exactly. It was more like they
wanted to get on with cheering, and this moment of required sympathy was an
imposition.

He looked at Ryan and found those blue eyes gazing at him.
JJ’s hand was still locked on Ryan’s forearm. He loosened his fingers. “Sorry.”

“You okay?”

“He just looks hurt bad.”

“Yeah. But they take a lot of precautions, so he may be up
and ready to walk and run by the end of the day.”

“And he may not.”

“Yeah.”

The game continued, but JJ couldn’t stop thinking about the
player who got hurt. He jumped up when Ryan did and cheered in the right
places, but the game had lost its luster. The fun all came from Ryan being next
to him. Having the man so close sent JJ’s dick into a constant state of
anticipation. Lean to the left, lean to
the right, stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight. Just like the
cheerleaders at halftime—who could have used a costume redesign, by the way.

Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 32. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul-mate husband and her soul-mate dog near the sea in California where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!